Fractured Math

She stands where the blueprint meets the bone,

Tracing the lines of a temple alone.

A silver pen in a steady hand,

Mapping the dunes of a shifting sand.

Her mind is a grid of iron and light,

A calculated shield against the night;

She speaks in the math of a structural grace,

Where every sorrow has a measured space.

But the walls are glass, and the air is thin,

Watching where the giants’ ghosts begin.

Her strength is the pillar, the unmoving core,

While a heavy weight rests on the cellar floor.

She is the logic that holds back the flood,

Yet the ink in her veins is warming to blood;

The coldest brain for the warmest beat,

Walking the wire where the frequencies meet.

Her struggle is written in indigo stains,

The burden of salt and the phantom of rains.

She carries the faults of a world out of tune,

A silent observer beneath a gray moon.

The rusted latch of a locked-out heart,

A precise alignment of every fractured part;

Building a bridge with a breaking wire,

The engineer of the funeral pyre.

Connected in shadow, abstracted in light,

She navigates the infinite night.

A host to the stranger, a ghost to the tree,

The anchor that yearns for the open sea.